The Final Recollections of the Ghost of Sparta
by Blank The Snivy
Summary: On the brink of death, in a world that he single handedly destroyed, Kratos can't help but think about his own life and how he became a man made god, made god killer. Warning: Spoilers for the end of God of War III One shot


**I do not own God of War**

**Warning: Spoiler Alert for the end of God of War III**

The Final Recollections of the Ghost of Sparta

I lay there on the torn up rubble of the great Mount Olympus, a large hole in my chest from the Blade of Olympus because I knew that there was nothing left in the world left for me to do. The entire world lay in ruin because of me and not even the souls from the deepest bowels of the Underworld could escape their horrible fate because their keeper Hades was dead.

The sun no longer shined.

Plants no longer grew.

People no longer lived.

All of this. This Chaos. This saddening scene of a world, destroyed because of my vengeance.

My blood continued to leak out of my large wound and the body was beginning to go numb. The blade had severed my spine and I could no longer feel my legs. Cold rain and harsh winds came down from the heavens and their freezing chill made my death even worse. I could not die in peace and even if I did my soul would linger through the desolate world along with the other phantoms and demons. Did I feel proud that I had finally exacted my vengeance?

I don't know.

I had conquered my fear only to come out with no one there to congratulate me. My family was dead because of me, the gods massacred because of vengeance and even Mother Earth, Gaia, had been a casualty in my blood campaign. At first I didn't think of those innocent lives that I had killed, but now, only minutes from death, do I realize that I had single handedly killed the world and all of its inhabitants. I do not know if I should feel sorry for those poor souls or if I should cast that aside. Luckily they've had the blessing of dying once in their lifetime.

I on the other hand have died two times in the past and even sentenced to the Pits of Tartarus by Charon himself.

One at the hand of Ares, my previous master.

And the other at the hand of my father, Zeus.

I find that ironic though.

The gods failed to kill me, and yet I die at my own hands, by my own mortal hands.

There was one thing I was assured of though. One bright thing that I knew I could hold onto even in death.

Calliope was safe in Elysium.

Even as I lay there dying, I knew that that one piece of knowledge would at least grant me a peaceful rest. My daughter, my beautiful daughter was safe. And who knows. Maybe that Pandora is with her as well. Hopefully they are playing in the fields happily, knowing that no one would be able to disturb their peacefulness. My lips curved into a small smile at the thought as I gazed up into the gray sky. My dreams and thoughts had given me hope.

Thunder cracked in the distance, snapping me out of it and back into the horrible reality that I was still dying.

The pain. Oh, the seething pain.

I yelled in frustration only to find more pain as my reward. I cursed at the gods before I grew silent once more. I had killed the gods. There was no longer anyone to hear my rants. The irony of that.

More thunder, more rain, more torrential winds swept the destroyed, flooded land and yet I could not cry.

Spartans don't cry.

I no longer had a goal, a family, friends, allies, magic or death and yet I still wanted solace, but in turn received more pain and torture.

Maybe that's how Daedalus. Finally finishing his task only to find pain at the end of it all. The craftsman even showed me kindness, even if it was small. He had been scorned by the gods and had his family taken away, just like me. Then he had been given tasks in order to receive relief, but was instead given torture, just like me. The only difference between the craftsman and I was that I could fight back. I had the determination and strength to challenge the gods and win. Daedalus on the other hand was a frail old man, working endlessly just to see his boy again, which I too had killed.

Everything I seem to touch has to die at my hands.

But . . .

Where do Gods go when they die?

Maybe there was something I was not told of. A secret world where gods basked in after death. There had to be something for the gods. I tried raising my head to see my surroundings and I was forced to fight through the pain as I moved my head even slightly. I was alone on my desolate rock, not even the ghostly Athena. Up ahead though was my escape.

It was a ledge that went straight down and into the rapids of the flooded world and hopefully my final resting place.

If there was a lavish world for deceased gods, I would now find out. I struggled to move my arms and managed to start crawling despite the horrible pain that shot through my chest. I soon got the rhythm of things and began making my way towards the ledge, a thick trail of crimson blood following after my every movement. The ground was slick with cold rain and I slipped pathetically from time to time. My legs were thankfully numb but my chest continued to ache.

Blood started coursing out of my mouth and onto the ground as I crawled over to the edge.

Charon, Persephone, Ares, Poseidon, Hades, Hermes, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Daedalus, Icarus, The Fates, Perseus, Theseus, Zeus, Pandora, my family, all the people whose lives I've ruined or ended filled my mind as I crawled towards the end of the ledge, as if pushing me onwards.

I then found myself looking off the ledge and into the water below. The brutal waves crashing against each other and jags of rocks that stabbed up from the water. If this didn't kill him, then nothing would. With one final push I fell off the cliff and into my watery abyss. Deep inside I hoped that I had finally found my sweet relief. Even if there was no secret haven for the gods, at least now I knew that I was dead.

My tale began as a mortal, with my brother in Sparta, I was chosen and not him to become a warrior. I fought, I won, I became champion. Then I sold my soul to the God of War and massacred my family. I then became servant to the gods in order to relieve myself of nightmares that tortured me every night. I saw my daughter in Elysium, I saved the Sun God Helios and still I was not rewarded. I then began my journey to killing the god that had made me kill my family. I won that battle as well and was then crowned a god myself.

Did I feel happiness?

No

I watched and participated in war after war for my own entertainment and to spread my own name, and my father murdered me to stop my rampage. I died yet again and was brought up in order to change time itself. I claimed the Blade of Olympus as my own killed the gods that once called me their slave and finally rid myself of the god who sought my demise. Alone in the world, I killed myself in order to escape the chaos around me and to give the tortured souls the power of hope.

My tale began as a mortal, I lived as a warrior and god, and yet my tale ends as a mortal.

I am Kratos

The Ghost of Sparta

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**Spur of imagination made me write this**

**Review if you like. **


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